Touch
by Luveniar FurElise
Summary: I just moved 'Passion' into this story, along with another piece. I guess this will be a running collection of HouseCam oneshots. Enjoy, again!
1. Part I: Cameron

**A/N:** I'm working on my descriptive abilities. This is also another one that snuck up on me at work. Maybe I should take the picture of Hugh down to corral my naughty mind….nah. Please review!

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She sat in Pathology, nonchalantly atop a stool with her back to the door. She absently swiveled back and forth as she made notes on the chart in front of her before turning her attention back to the specimen under the microscope. Her ears were perked, waiting, waiting…

And then she heard his familiar shuffle; the muted thump of his cane on the floor as he slowly and delicately opened the door and slipped inside. She felt her body start to tingle, the hairs on the nape of her neck stood up in defiance of her long tresses that were pulled tight into a bun that day.

The tips of his fingers were cool there, whispering across, up and down her neck until finally she pulled her glasses off and set them down on top of the chart. She closed her eyes as his hand paused on her shoulder, only to resume exploring her skin by wrapping lightly around her throat, up over her chin, across soft lips. She was tempted to open her mouth, to nibble at his fingertips, but she knew better.

He liked to be in charge, and she was fine with that, because in her secret heart, she enjoyed being taken. Until this…whatever this was with House, she had always dated men who needed her to be the one, needed her to take them over. And with her husband, now nearly nine years gone, he had been so sick that all they'd shared were the delicate encounters of a dying love.

She took a deep breath as his hands roamed. After all this time, he was still so careful, so gentle, as if he was afraid that she would break like a thin glass ornament. They had had many long conversations lasting well into the night, both at his apartment and her own, and she had slowly learned of the man he truly was, under all the layers of sarcasm and pain. She held this knowledge of him close to her heart; she knew that the fact he'd decided to share himself with her after he'd been through certain things in his life was a big deal. She protected his privacy with the ferocity of any good soldier protecting his or her country.

Finally she clasped his hands together over her heart and reached up with one hand to graze the stubble across his cheek. She awkwardly maneuvered herself off the stool, turning, and led him silently down the hall to the elevator. Once there, she started a deep and aching kiss, pulling herself away from him at just the right moment. She had learned to time the elevator, something he smirked at every time.

They hurried through the downpour that had been going on outside, only to have to soak themselves climbing atop his bike. Without words, he handed her the small red helmet while he donned the larger black one. He loved the way her hair frizzed ever so slightly in the rain and was sorry to see it hidden by the helmet. He turned his attention back to the road and revved the engine, quickly putting away his cane and proceeding to speed off in the direction of his apartment.

After shedding jackets and closing the door, they linked hands again, Cameron placing his arms around her and letting go to caress his face once more. He smiled, she smiled. Despite their age difference, despite his limp, despite everything that made them imperfect, made them human, they created the perfect moment there, in his living room, dripping with rain and fire at the same time.

He surprised her by letting go of his cane, shifting all his weight onto his left leg, and hoisting her up into his arms. He had been working out his already strong forearms, doing pull-ups in the doorway of the spare bedroom after she had gone home, just to be able to carry her this way. He could only carry her a few steps, and he took those steps to the couch, laying her there. She looked up at him, her eyes full of trust as she welcomed his kiss again, his hands, and his warmth into her own.

She kissed his eyelids as he made love to her, dancing her fingertips across the length of his back. The rain outside pounded harder, in time with her heartbeat, until she thought for sure she would explode. She moved her body into his rhythm, breathing deeply until finally he spoke.

'Cameron,' he whispered deeply, 'Allison…marry me.'

And then she woke up in her own bed, the dream haunting her for the seventh straight night. She wept a single tear as the rain continued to fall.


	2. Part II: House

­­­­­­­­**A/N: **For those of you anxiously awaiting the continuation of _Truth_, I'm working on it, I'm gonna pull an all-nighter tonight, and I'm beginning a four-day weekend. In the meantime, I hope this can tide you over – and encourage lovely reviews :D

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He gently smoothed his hands through her auburn hair, pulling on the loose curls to let them bounce against her cheek. Her small smile was the stuff of poetry; her lips soft and waiting as he moved to run his long fingers across them. Her eyes shone with desire and he wondered again why he'd made such an ass of himself on that date so many months ago.

A steady rain murmured against the windows as they sat together at his piano. She moved, and suddenly found herself in his lap, her back to the keys. As he wrapped his arms around her, she ran her delicate fingers along his forehead and down to his cheekbones, briefly fingering his eyelids, and finally along the unshaven edge of his chin.

He paused to move his half-full glass of scotch from atop the piano to a place where it wouldn't be knocked over before he gave her back his attention. He looked at her face once more, pondering the ultimate puzzle that she was before he gave in and kissed her fiercely.

He liked to be in charge, and had been amazed to learn that she didn't mind. Not many of his past relationships were worth mentioning, and in each of those he had somehow ended up dominated, Stacy being no exception. But that was the past, and this, this was now. Here was a woman, so many years younger than himself but with an old soul. She understood him and for some reason loved him anyway.

Still, as his hands roamed and as he tasted her and felt her body grow warmer against him, he was gentle with her, more out of respect for who she was than anything else. He had learned how strong a person she really was underneath her sadness and her geniality.

She seemed to only share those secret parts of herself with people she admired, respected, and loved. He kept that part of her, the real her, close to his heart.

She fingered his soft curls as he wrapped his arms a little tighter and began to stand up, his right hand landing clumsily onto the keys, ringing random notes together as he struggled to hold on to her and stand at the same time. She surprised him again by hopping down before he hurt himself and quickly led him to the bedroom, a serious look of understanding on her face.

They awkwardly maneuvered out of their clothes once there, and although the moment wasn't anything that could be scripted, it was real, and it was the two of them, together at last. He vowed to himself never to let go of her again.

He lowered himself to the bed and into her welcoming smile, and she reached up once more to travel the length of his body with her fingertips.

They made love hurriedly, as if there were no tomorrow, and as they lay together afterward with a small touch here, a light kiss there, she finally spoke.

"House," her voice decorated the silence, "I love you. I need you."

And then he woke up alone again; his leg throbbing like it did every morning. He sighed heavily as he wondered if he'd ever be able to get over her. The rain came relentlessly down outside, and finally he got up to get a couple of Vicodin and a glass of scotch.


	3. Passion

**A/N:** This idea popped into my head at work of all places.

**Disclaimer:** Nope, not yet.

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She could feel the rough graze of his stubble against her neck as he softly nibbled there. Her delicate fingers swam through his soft brown curls, over his head and down to the base of his neck, where his skin was warm. His breathing was slow and deep as his hands gripped her waist, moved up her back.

They kissed, hands roaming, for what seemed like hours. The only sounds were their breathing and the quiet rustle of clothing. Neither wanting the night to end, they took their time memorizing each other as if it were their only night together. Maybe it was.

They were in his office, it was late and most of the hospital staff had gone home for the day, save for those dedicated few who worked the night shift.

He moved to close the blinds, shutting them off from anyone who should happen by. He left the ones at the outer windows open though; a full moon shone through and a late-night downpour turned to music on the glass.

Her wide eyes searched his for something, for truth, for reassurance that this wasn't all a dream. She had loved before, lusted before, but this was beyond explanation. She wondered why it was so easy to be kissing him fiercely one moment, and be perfectly content gazing into his eyes the next.

He could look at her, into her, forever. She was an enigma, a paradox, a chameleon. Yes, she was the nice one, the friendly one, but she had a streak of passion that was hidden inside her as if she were a butterfly in a cocoon. He wondered why she felt she had to hide it. She could be as quick-witted as he, when the moment struck her. She was sexy and dangerous, while at the same time she was somehow pure and innocent.

She slipped off her shoes, unpinned her hair. He made her feel like a fire, a fairy, something wild, when all he had to do was look at her. She thought of herself this way in her most secret dreams, but never had a man made her imagination feel like reality. She came to him again and took his hands, carefully pulling him to the floor. She took his cane and laid it aside on his desk.

He felt like an awkward teenager around her, as if he'd never been with a woman before. When she reached out to unbutton his shirt, he didn't stop her, couldn't stop her. He let her hands roam across his shoulders, glide down to his biceps, finally linking her naked hands with his own.

She kissed him again, on his lips, his forehead, across his chest for a moment, and then she kissed the backs of his musician's hands. She wondered briefly if he'd ever had sex with anyone on his piano, and mused at the thought of cool, polished wood against her skin. Still gripping his hands, she stood up and smiled at this man whose heart pounded fierce underneath his own brand of armor.

He gazed at her as if she were a dream, and perhaps tonight she was. She was everything, every woman, every fairy tale creature, all wrapped up into one small package. His face displayed a shadow of the younger man he'd once been. Slowly, gently, without a word, she drew down her zipper, and for him alone she shed the red dress.


	4. Moonlight Sonata

**A/N: **Alright, so I've come to the conclusion that when I sit down to write more of _Truth _and I end up stumped, it helps to write something else. So here's another installment for _Touch. _

**Disclaimer: **Damn I wish I owned House right now. And Beethoven for that matter. Or at least a couple of songs. Okay, moving on…

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_She sat alone in the dark save for the moonlight shimmering through the curtains. She sipped a warm mug of tea as she waited for him to come. He always came at two-fifteen. Her eyes were wide with longing, with lust. She reached up a slender hand to rub her neck, already working her way into a frenzy by imagining his fingers floating delicately along her own. She took deep, even breaths and set her mug down on the table as she moved to get up._

_Three small raps set her heart beating even harder and she opened the door to his long face. His eyes were icy hot with only the moonlight reflecting from them. Never breaking her gaze, she languidly relieved him of his cane and set it aside. He wouldn't need it tonight. 'I'm here,' he said, a small smirk decorating his face. 'I knew you would be,' she replied, returning the smirk. It was an inside joke; not even Wilson knew what it meant._

_He removed his coat and she laid it on the couch. He reached up to sift his fingers through her hair, and she turned into his palm to lay a faint kiss there. 'Play,' she whispered. She'd run out one weekend and bought a baby grand and forced herself to make room for it, just so he could play for her when he came. 'Play for me.' He'd never even played for Stacy, but he played for her. He always played Beethoven._

_The only thing she didn't like about his piano playing was simply that he couldn't touch her at the same time. So she'd lean against the piano and close her eyes, imagining his fingers dancing across her skin much as they danced across the ivory. Watching her in this state of bliss made him smile. Watching him in the same state of bliss as he played made her smile._

_He landed on the last note of 'Fur Elise' and stopped to look at her. She was a vision of fairy-tale hair and always in deep blue. She always wore blue for him. Her eyes weren't exactly blue and they weren't exactly green; they changed color like a rare chameleon from an unknown jungle in India. Indeed, she _was_ a chameleon, or more beautifully a prism; the many facets of her personality that he'd discovered along the way only intrigued him more. _

_She smiled that smile, the one that started from the left corner of her mouth and slowly spread until her face lit up with its own halo. She gracefully slipped between him and the piano, sitting sideways on his lap, careful to keep her weight shifted to his left leg. Her arms moved to stealthily wrap themselves around his frame, her hands beginning their dance across sinewy muscle and taut skin. He was in better shape than most people realized, but she knew._

_He traced the angles of her face, eventually letting his hands rest along the line of her jaw, cupping her face in them. First, he kissed her forehead. __As he moved to kiss each of her eyelids, she traced a finger along the line of his ear for a moment before threading her hands through his hair. Slow, delicate, this was how they always moved together, as if the night would go on forever. Finally his lips met hers, warm and soft. They paused, breathing in each other's scents and souls. _

_There were no words spoken; words weren't needed in the moonlight. They paused again, and he reached around her body to play 'Moonlight Sonata' while she kissed his chin and rested her head against his chest. His heart beat in sync with her own, steady and calm. Cameron marveled at the fact that he could hold her and play at the same time, and he didn't do it very often because the strange position would make his leg ache._

_The last notes echoed through the room and then she stood. She took his hands and led him to her bed, still smiling that contented smile. She'd been surprised at first to discover that House enjoyed just…kissing her. The sex itself was lovely, but what took up most of their time before dawn finally arrived was touching, kissing, feeling with hearts and hands. It couldn't be described, but when he touched her, she felt like some fine piece of china, strong but still breakable. Beautiful, but still serving an important purpose. _

_When she woke in the morning after these moonlight fantasies, she would still smile to herself and look forward to the day ahead, when, every once in a while, in the lab or maybe catching her before she left the conference room to check on a patient, he'd say softly to her, 'I'm here.'_

_Fin_


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